Abyss of Vindication
by Pinklove21
Summary: What if instead of doing nothing after Gale's whipping, Katniss started an uprising in District 12. Would she succeed? Would Snow's tyranny end? And even if it did...would she lose herself in the process? What is freedom worth if you've lost yourself to what it takes to succeed forever?
1. Agreement

_And if you gaze into the abyss for too long, the abyss will also gaze into you._

* * *

A gentle push on my shoulder is what brings me out of the quiet, heavy darkness accompanied by a deep sleep, and it takes a moment for me to remember where I am, my eyes blinking a few times. I find that one of my cheeks is biting and stinging at me, my eye still almost swollen shut but I can open it a little without too much pain. My neck is sore and stiff as I rub it which initially confuses me. But it doesn't take me long to realize why when I sense my hand locked around another familiar one that is still dead to the world, and everything comes rushing back with crystal clarity.

The whip crusted with new blood, ruby red droplets and puddles on the ground soaking the knees of the person bound to the post who slumps unconscious as the new Head who I don't recognize glares at me as I step in the way to stop this madness. Darius, a peacekeeper who has only been a friend unconscious on the ground nearby with a nice little lump on his head, apparently had tried and failed to end this monstrous Thread's cruelty. Haymitch and Peeta helping me end it as lookers on watched us make a stand and win for justice.

The almost strangest part for me is that I felt as if I was in a haze after that, a bad dream that would go away in the morning. A nightmare that I could wake up from just like all the others. Despite the fact that I can't stand the sight of blood and run from it every chance I get, I couldn't move from Gale's side. In fact, I was almost morbidly fascinated how each and every lash that mutilated his back resonated onto me. My face was stinging and harmed and yet was nothing when I multiplied my own pain by twenty, thirty, forty times over. I only had a single lash, and yet I could feel each and every one in the room as if they were my own wounds. Except I was conscious-Gale wasn't. I had only hoped he stayed that way.

The morphine helped though, and once again last night I had found myself at his side, the wounds and blood that I could sense not bothering me. I only wanted to be alone with him, and I was granted my wish if only because my mother realized that trying to force me away again wouldn't work too well this time. And so there I was, holding his hand, thinking for the first time just how much he means to me. Kissing him though I doubt he remembers and falling asleep on the table as his whisper of love just hours before ran through my head again, and suddenly I didn't know what to think of anything anymore.

Let me tell you, it makes it a whole lot more difficult to not feel guilty thinking that with Peeta in the room, a reminder of what I shouldn't feel and what I need to feel for the sake of my life and others. The scent of fresh bread hits me and paired with the look in Peeta's eyes when I finally meet them that gives me the feeling he's been watching us for a while certainly doesn't help my guilt.

"Go up to bed Katniss." He orders me with sadness in his expression though he attempts to hide it behind tiredness. Though maybe he's not trying to feign restlessness-the dark shadows around his slightly drooping eyelids would attest to that. "I'll look after him now."

I am exhausted and a bed sounds like heaven right now after spending a night sleeping in a chair with my head on a hard table, but my hand still entwined with Gale's reminds me of my resolution to stay here and fight for what is right and not run away and die like quarry in the woods. "Peeta, about what I said yesterday about running-"

"I know. There's nothing to explain." He cuts me off before I can even explain that I've changed my mind, as if he always knew I would. As if he didn't believe I would run in the first place. Maybe he does know me better than I give him credit for.

That only makes me feel worse, because he has clearly not slept, has brought over fresh bread, and the look in his eyes tells me that he has resolved to accepting something though I don't know what it is. No…I do know what it is, but it doesn't make me feel any better. Why is this so _hard_? Why couldn't I have just never have gotten into this mess in the first place?

He at least should have an explanation or an apology though I know it will come out wrong. But still, I try anyway, my tone giving away my guilt. "Peeta-"

It's enough for him, or maybe he doesn't want to hear it as much as I don't want to say it because he tells me to just go to bed and this time I listen, knowing no words that attempt to tumble out of my mouth are going to help anyway.

Though I'm exhausted I'm restless in bed, and after about an hour of trying to sleep I just lay there staring at the ceiling, thinking of my resolution last night. How I realized that running away isn't going to solve any problems. Not that it probably would have worked anyway. Oh sure, if it was just Gale and I we probably could have made it alone in the woods, but certainly not with the kids, our mothers, and Haymitch. Definitely not with how loud Peeta is in the woods or his family if they walk anything like him. If they would have even come anyway.

And what of the district and the rest of Panem? Even if we had somehow successfully made it out there with all of us, it wouldn't solve any of the problems other than my own. It was a selfish thought really, especially since I'm far more in the spotlight than I ever wanted to be thanks to one little slip of paper with my sister's name on it. Not to mention that Snow clearly has it out for me though part of that is my own fault. He might even try to take it out on the district if I ran away.

So the only thing left is a rebellion. If District 8 can have an uprising, then so can District 12. Granted we have less people, but since people aren't going to be happy with Thread and what may come with his new leadership we might be able to get them to rebel. Taking away freedoms that we've had for so long might anger people enough. Oh sure no one particularly liked Cray because of his disgusting activities that take advantage of poor Seam women and girls and the fact that he could give Haymitch a run for his title as the Drunk of the District, but his one merit was his laxness on the laws. And now he's gone.

The more I think about it, the more I believe that an uprising can happen and succeed. Maybe not right away, but with some planning and timing it could work. I try to figure out a way to do this on my own but keep rounding back to the same conclusion-I'm going to need Haymitch's help. As much as I don't want to, I don't see another option.

And so with that resolution, I get up and put on my boots and that awful wool coat I hate that my mother has deemed appropriate for a Victor to wear to fight against the blizzard howling out my window and sneak down the stairs without anyone seeing me, quietly closing the front door behind me as I make my way to Haymitch's house in the blinding whiteness, a bitter wind biting at my whip mark on my cheek. But I push through, and while I'm grateful to be out of the wind Haymitch's house is in all honesty not much warmer than outside. He must have forgotten to light a fire before he crashed from either exhaustion or drink last night.

Deciding to light a fire first in the predictably not roaring fireplace, I get that going in a few minutes and defrost my hands before going into the kitchen to find Haymitch. When I get there, I'm surprised to find him up.

"Didn't you hear me come in?" I ask, and he just glances at me and shrugs before taking a swig of an almost empty bottle.

"I think I did."

"Then why didn't you get up?" I question him, crossing my arms over my chest.

To that he just shrugs again before relaxing back into his chair, and I roll my eyes at him. Naturally he would just be too lazy to get up and find out who essentially broke into his house. What if I had been a peacekeeper coming to arrest him for what he did to help me yesterday? Though I suppose he had a point when I thought that last night-they'd be coming for me or Gale if they were coming at all, and since I wouldn't have let them take Gale it would have been me either way. They'd probably just write Haymitch off as drunk as usual.

"How's the kid?" he eventually breaks the silence as I've been staring off into space thinking about last night again. I'm honestly surprised he asks because I didn't think he'd really care too much, but maybe he just senses I can practically think of nothing else right now.

Since I don't really know since I'm not a medical person like my mother or Prim, I just shrug and look down towards my arms, not wanting to talk about it for fear I might cry or something which I would never hear the end of. I need to focus only on the uprising that needs to happen. Justice. Vindication for the Capitol's cruelty and crimes.

"He'll make it. I've never seen someone strong enough to come to consciousness that quickly before with that many lashes. Besides, that kid is almost more stubborn than you are-he'll want to be up and back to normal in no time." Haymitch predicts without me saying a word, and I wonder why he asked me at all if he's predicting that even if normal means back to the mines again which I still hate. But what surprises me more is that he seems to care if Gale gets better or not. Maybe he's just saying for my sake, though I doubt it. Haymitch has never particularly cared about my feelings before other than when they contradict what the Capitol wants to see if only for all of our safety.

But I don't want to talk about this. I can't. So instead of giving Haymitch an answer I decide get on with what I want to say, but for that we can't be in here. Surely this place is bugged with plenty of Capitol people just eagerly waiting for us to say something stupid that would validate Snow moving against us just like he wants to. And I'm not going to give him that pleasure even though it's exactly what I'm going to say.

"Come with me to get some food. We're going to need it before this blizzard gets any worse." I more demand than ask him. Normally he would protest or give me some smartass comment, but he must realize by the look in my eyes under the worry and pain because all he does is finish off his bottle of potent alcohol and get up, gesturing with his hand towards the door.

"Lead the way, sweetheart."

With that we're out the door leaving the fire going for however long we may be gone, and I don't speak for fear of the bugs hearing us until we're at least a good hundred yards from the Victor's Village houses even though I know I'm being overly cautious. Though I suppose when you're planning what is for all intents and purposes treason to the Capitol's ears you can't be too careful.

"Running away isn't going to help anything." I admit, and Haymitch snorts at my conclusion as we walk along the crisp white snow that is still coming down hard, leaving a new layer to cover our footprints almost as soon as we take our foot off of that spot.

"Finally figured out the flaws in that plan, did ya?" he comments, and though normally I would roll my eyes I don't give him the satisfaction.

"I want to start an uprising." I blurt out eventually, and at that Haymich stops in his tracks and takes my arm roughly in his hand, effectively stopping me and forcing me to turn and look at him.

"What makes ya think that's a better idea?" he asks me. I would have thought that he'd make a joke out of it or something, but I can't find any laughter in Haymitch's expression. No sarcasm either. He's as serious as he can be.

"If District 8 can do it, so can we." I inform him, thinking that he'll be surprised just like Gale was that there was an uprising there. But there's no indication of surprise from Haymitch about the news, telling what I think I suspected all along. Haymitch Abernathy plays up the drunkness so no one suspects that he knows far more than anyone thinks he does.

"How do you know about that?" he questions me.

"How do you?" I decide to demand instead of giving him an answer. Let him be impressed for once that I know something I shouldn't no matter how little it might be. Instead of informing me, we just stare at each other for a while until the moment has passed and we realize we're both too stubborn to deem the other with an answer. I wonder if he found out the same place I did-the Mayor's house.

"We can't do it. We're too small and things are only going to get worse around here with Thread in charge." He predicts, letting go of my arm and walking again as I fall into step with him.

"Won't people get angry if things get worse? It can fuel the fire!" I reply, to which Haymitch shakes his head.

"Not everyone is like you. They'll be scared shitless, not angry." He retorts.

"Then let's make them angry! Let's make them see the only way to change things is to _do_ something about it!" I half yell, glad for the howling wind that will block my voice from anyone stupid enough to be out in this weather and hearing what I'm saying. Then I lower my voice to a normal level, sighing. "There must be a way."

"Are you saying this because you don't want to get married or because you really want to end Snow's reign?" he asks me, and I look at him with a glare.

"Snow." I declare, and while it's true with everything in me a small part of me realizes it's the only way to not marry Peeta since I've realized running away is not going to help, and we both know it. I can tell by the way he stares at me that he knows.

"Even if it stops the marriage you can't be with him." He tells me almost quietly, voicing a truthful fear I didn't even want to admit to myself. Because we both know the him Haymitch referring to is not Peeta and I blush at the comment. The wind is actually helping me in that by giving me the excuse that my cheeks are only red because of the cold. Because he's right, and something in me hates him for it even though I can't think of that when I have a rebellion to insight.

Even if we don't die in the process, the entirety of Panem would still believe Gale is my cousin. And while I don't particularly care what people think of me, it may harm my family and his if people think that. They may think I'm only trying to start an uprising for that purpose, not for Snow's tyranny to end. Not for justice. For…love.

Why did everything have to get so complicated? I didn't even want any of that love stuff and that's my problem now.

Maybe dying for the cause would solve my problems even if that's not the point.

"I know." I tell Haymitch, looking him right in the eyes so he knows I'm telling the truth. "Please help me start an uprising. I know you know how."

He sighs with acceptance or agreement, I don't really know, but I can feel a small satisfaction growing in me as I realize I might have won this fight. "It might not work."

"It will." I forecast, though I really don't know if I believe that or not myself. The one thing I have going for me is that I'm willing to do just about anything to make sure it works. Determination can get you far, I've learned that over the years. It can help me here too.

"Alright, I'll help you." He finally agrees, but holds up a finger to stop me from thanking him before I can say a word. "I just need to know one thing. How far are you willing to go for this to work?"

"As far as I need to." I inform him, and when he studies me and sees no indication of lying in my voice or eyes he accepts my answer.

"It's not going to be a pretty road, I'll tell you that. Once you start, just make sure you don't lose yourself in the process. We'll need you to be the Girl on Fire everyone loves." He warns me, and I nod.

If it stops Snow…if it stops people from being whipped like Gale was yesterday, I'll do it. I'll do anything at all. And how hard can it be to not lose myself in the process? I didn't during the Hunger Games, I surely won't during an uprising in my own district. And even if a small sense is telling me not to think that way, a larger part is telling me that I can accomplish my goal with a rebellion here in District 12 and hopefully later on, Panem.

"I won't."


	2. Daydreams

After finally getting someone to agree with me, I oddly didn't feel as relieved as I probably should have. Instead, the biting cold of the wind only seemed to add to my escalating anxiety about how I could possibly pull this off. It's one this to have a commitment to an uprising; it's quite another to try and figure out how one could actually start one and make it succeed. And currently my ideas on the matter were a canvas as white as the blizzard that was bearing down upon us-none at all.

When I asked Haymitch if he had any ideas, instead of telling me he ordered me back to my house as he continued down what was a path under several inches of snow towards town, telling me he'd inform me of things when he knew things. Naturally I wasn't very pleased to be bossed around, especially by a drunk. And even though I wouldn't listen to my old mentor most of the time anyway, he has a point. Besides, the exhaustion from before is settling in again and Gale is still at home, hopefully still unconscious if there is any mercy in this world for him as wounded as he is.

So I trudge on home. Though it couldn't have been more than a quarter mile away from where I parted with Haymitch, it took a long time to get here. I doubt I'll be leaving the house for a few days with this snow, but that's alright with me-nothing much is going to happen for the uprising in this weather. Actually, nothing much is going to happen at all. More likely than not the District will be at a standstill for the time being. It's not good for those who rely on the meager sums that miners make, but at least they'll get a few days rest. It's a sort of grim benefit, but a benefit nonetheless. I could certainly use some rest too, and as I open the door to my thankfully warm Victor's Village house I can practically hear my bed calling to me.

"Where have you been?" a voice questions me with surprise, and I have to hold back a groan when I recognize the voice.

"Making sure Haymitch was alright." I tell him, but even though it's a half lie and somewhat out of character for me, he doesn't pick up on it. Then again, the boy in front of me hardly knows me as well as the one currently lying on my kitchen table that would have caught it before the words even tumbled out of my mouth.

"You should have been sleeping." He shakes his head at me, clearly not knowing why it was so important to go see Haymitch in this weather but not asking me for further detail. Maybe he feels like he's not entitled to anymore, or that it had something to do with Gale. Suddenly I feel bad about that, because I know if we're going to have an uprising that Peeta will be very useful to it. For one, people will listen to him and all his beautiful persuasive words, and two, they like him better than me. Who wouldn't?

"I couldn't." I admit, chickening out for now on telling him the truth. Besides, we're back inside the house now where I'm certain the Capitol is listening in, and I don't have any intention of letting them in on my little secret until I want them to know. Or at least I'm back inside-Peeta looks like he's leaving. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

It takes me aback, because clearly he wasn't too happy about _me_ being in that blizzard just now. Besides, no one minds him being here and he'll be all alone at home. The guilt creeps up on me as soon as I figure it out. It's not because anyone here would mind-it's because he would. It's because of me.

Suddenly I can see that sad expression again that I woke up to just hours ago even though it's not currently there, and try to help it. "Peeta, you don't have to go."

The look he gives me is one of doubt in response, and yet it hides under a strange determination to leave as well. I sigh inwardly. Well, I never was the one good at talking. And there isn't any way I could assure him of…I suppose behaving myself even though that's probably not the correct term around Gale. Besides, he probably wouldn't believe me anyway even if I tried to say as much.

"I do." He says eventually in return, and makes his way past me to open the door. "I'll…be back later." He promises before the biting cold wind stops coming and all that's left is the warmth of the house filling in with the door now closed.

Well that's great. I'm never going to get Peeta to help us with the uprising if he can't even look at me. Somehow I'll have to convince him to aid us, because I certainly would fail at the talking part. I'd definitely never get the townies on board with the plan, and as much as I don't usually like them other than strictly trading, we might need their skills for weapons or other things. And Peeta could do that a million times easier and better than I being a townie himself.

Something to work on, but one thing at a time. I find my feet taking me straight to the kitchen as if they knew it's where I need to be, and suddenly my mind is all consumed with the thoughts of the boy laying on the table. My eyes find him before anyone in the room, and I don't know if I should be happy he's still asleep or not. The room stenches of blood and medical things that I normally flee from, and yet I don't have the urge now. Maybe it's because it's Gale, and I can't leave him. Maybe it's because I'm over my fear.

That would be useful, but I doubt it. Even so, I better get used to blood if there's going to be a rebellion, because I'm under no impression everyone is going to make it out of an uprising alive or uninjured.

"Katniss, you're up!" Prim interrupts my musing about injuries and rebellions, and I blink a few times before my vision sets upon her, stirring up some kind of slush mixture in a large pot.

"Um, yeah." I answer, not really knowing what to say. She doesn't seem to realize that I've been outside, which means that my red cheeks have softened to a normal skintone already and as long as she does see my soaked coat in the hallway she never will. But before I can come up with some excuse as to why I'm up my vision automatically goes to Gale still lying on my kitchen table, my own whip mark on my cheek courtesy of Thread resonating with a stinging burn even as I just glance at his back with the old bandages from last night where he hasn't stirred since I left earlier.

"He's going to live." Prim says quietly as I blink and look to her, realizing she caught me staring. I don't know whether to be embarrassed or just let it go, so I choose silence for now. "The first night was the indicator, mother told me so."

"Oh." Is all I deem to answer. It's a strange kind of relief that washes me, as if I was so upset and in pain at my own wound and his that it didn't even cross my mind that he could have possibly died after we got him away from Thread. All I could think about was him getting better, not dying. Now it's as if that panic is mixing with the relief-it's an odd feeling.

And then the last part of her assessment reaches my brain-my mother said so. Say what you will about my mother and how she hasn't really been a parent to me since Dad died, but she does know what she's doing. This is her element, and she excels well. I should have appreciated that long before now, but I suppose she's never done something like this before that hit me so personally up to this point. I'll never not be grateful that she's saving him, and the guilt at all the horrible things I said to her last night consumes me. I haven't ever really cussed before, and some of those words I called her or said to her I didn't even realize I could string into a correct sentence, let alone multiple ones. She certainly didn't deserve it. Guess that means I'm going to apologize later when I see her.

Great. More words. Though I suppose I'll have to get good at them if Peeta doesn't end up helping us with the uprising.

Fat chance of that. You could make me eat a dictionary and I'd still be as horrible with words as I am at this healing business my little sister seems to be born to do.

"Whatever that stuff the mayor's daughter brought is definitely helping him. It's like a miracle drug." Prim comments as she continues to stir the pot of whatever it is that's in there with a little relieved smile. But I can't bring myself to smile, because that only reminds me of the irrational anger I had at Madge last night, and she certainly deserves a thank you for it. More words. Kill me now.

"Good." I nod, sludging over to where Gale is, opting to take the kitchen chair closest to his head and where Prim is sitting, sighing. Just looking at the table is making me tired again, but it has to be close to lunchtime by now; no use going back to sleep until later.

So instead of sleeping, I sit by the table and daydream of better days. The uprising that I just got Haymitch to agree to help me with that could stop so much-all of Snow's tyranny, the unfairness in the District, the reaping…and selfishly, my wedding that the Capitol is oh so insistent on throwing me that I want no part of. I can just imagine Snow coming here himself to try and stop it, the satisfying sound and sight when my arrow hits him right in the eye like all of my prey. It's a sort of sickening daydream for a sixteen year old girl, and yet it's one of the only ones that could possibly bring a smile to my face today. Maybe the Hunger Games did make me crazy in a dark sort of way. Or maybe there's just too much blood in this room and it's affecting my brain. I should get out, but I can't seem to leave.

And so while Prim is out of the room eating lunch and reading a book while whatever she was stirring sits there settling in the fridge, I venture to at first just touch Gale's fingers as they lay their still, and then absentmindedly rubbing his calloused knuckles from the hard work of the mines as he stays dead to the world, breathing easy with sleep. He must be under those drugs again, I'm assuming either Prim or my mother gave him another dose unless it's the same one from last night.

But that's alright, I don't know what I'd say to him if he woke up anyway. Actually, I know what I'd _want_ to tell him-about the uprising, how sorry I am for everything, about…well, I don't know. Could it have really been just yesterday afternoon that we were in the cabin by the lake where everything went so wrong? It seems like a million years ago to me. If only I was better at talking and showing how I really feel or…I don't know, say what I should say instead of _I know_. Prim has already assured me that he's going to live, and yet I can't help but feel that idiotic answer will haunt me for the rest of my life, even if I could somehow manage to explain how I feel about him. I don't even know the words to describe it because there _are_ no words. Or maybe there's just too many.

Thinking about that makes my head spin and I'm already in pain with this wicked mark gracing my face, so instead of telling him about the uprising and that he'll get his wish for having one I tell him in my head, as if he could hear me in his dreams. It seems silly, but we never needed words anyway-something I appreciate much more now than I ever did before-so why not pretend he can understand me while he sleeps? It's at least something I can do to get this urge to tell him out of my system, at least for now. I'm sure Snow is having a field day with rewatching or listening to my yelling at my mother or how I've been acting about the situation in the last twenty hours or so, no need to give him any indication that I'm going to fight back.

And fight back I will. I'm not entirely sure how much he knows, but I'm pretty sure Haymitch is more involved with rebellion stuff if it even exists in District 12 than he lets on. I mean why else would he not let me come today? Certainly if he was just going to get booze or the surprising actual food I could have come with him. Is he meeting with people that can help us? People in the mines that can get others that are worn and angered with the elevated security and the lack of Cray? Or is he making sure they aren't too mad at me or worried about Thread to do anything?

They have to care. They just have to. This isn't just about me or Snow or even a stupid wedding. It's about…doing something to help everyone.

The more I think about it, the better I feel about having an uprising. I honestly don't even care if I die in the process if those I love don't. They could live without me anyway, especially in a new world. Even if we just managed to break off from the Capitol life would be better for them.

And yet I can't just sit here anymore. Even if there's a blizzard outside roaring and I have this pull to stay right here, I need to do something. Where is Haymitch anyway? The Hob?

I can always go find out. If I'm going to help with this uprising, I'm going to do all I can.

Resolved, I hear my mother I believe talking to Prim in the living room so I don't have much time. There's no way she'd let me just leave in this storm even if she couldn't really tell me what to do anymore. And though I don't want to leave Gale, I should probably go check on Hazelle and the kids anyway. Yeah, that will be my excuse.

Leaning down, I lean down to where my mouth is close to Gale's form that's still slumbering as peacefully as he ever could under the medicine, his thick black hair tickling my cheek. In a whisper so quiet I'm certain even the listening devices the Capitol has couldn't hear me, I tell him, "I'm fixing this. Promise."

And then I flee as silent as the hunter I am, exiting the back door to the hallway just as my mother and Prim are coming in the other way, slipping past the wall before they can see or hear me. It's just a matter of grabbing my still slightly wet coat and quietly opening and closing the door with the wind howling and I'm practically racing towards the Hob in the white death of winter, going towards what has to be my destiny.


End file.
